


I Hate The Beach

by unadulteratedstorycollector



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blowjobs, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, M/M, Seaside, beach, flangst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-13
Updated: 2017-03-13
Packaged: 2018-10-04 13:43:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10279799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unadulteratedstorycollector/pseuds/unadulteratedstorycollector
Summary: Harry hates the beach, with good reason. But maybe Draco can make him love the beach for a better one





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for birdsofshore's [Anywhere but the bed](http://birdsofshore.livejournal.com/152481.html) comment fest. Un-betad and written in a day. Any mistakes are mine.

“Why are we here?” Harry’s voice cuts through the thick, sleepy haze and Draco tries not to be annoyed. They are on the beach, on holiday, he should not be annoyed. Of course, Harry shouldn’t be moaning, but he is. Draco shuffles on the spot a little, sinking into the warm, soft sand, keeping his eyes closed.

“To relax and not think about work. Doctor’s orders.” OK, so Hermione isn’t technically their doctor, but she is a doctor. She’d marched into their flat last week, dragging the two of them into their living room, and shouted at them for twenty minutes about how their lives were becoming too full of work even by her standards, and if they didn’t go on holiday she was going to have them fired. She isn’t either of their bosses, but Draco believes 100% that she could have them fired.

He sighs, focusing on the soft whoosh of the sea. Running his fingers through the sand he waits. In any minute Harry will say something. He waits, enjoying the way the heat feels on his skin. Softly prickly and soothing. Maybe they should move to the beach. It’s really lovely here. They could floo into work every day, and if they wanted to stay in London they could stay over at the flat that he can’t bring himself to sell or Grimmauld Place, if they can get rid of the heads.

“You’re going to burn.” Harry’s voice sounds tight and Draco smiles, sticking his chin up a little.

“I’ll have you know the Blacks tan very nicely, thank you. Just because my father always preferred us looking waif-like, it doesn’t mean I can’t tan,” he sings, wriggling. He hears Harry shuffle around on the towel next to him.

“You’ll burn and then I’ll be the one having to rub aftersun on you,” Harry grumbles and Draco can’t help but laugh.

“You say that like you don’t love it.” They sit in silence for a moment and Draco knows that Harry is probably blushing. Maybe he’s scowling at Draco, his eyebrows drawn low over those beautiful eyes. He’s leaning forward, Draco knows that. He’s probably leaning on his knees, his shoulders broad and shining in the light. They’ll be going a little pink. For all his whining, he never puts enough suncream on his shoulders.

Draco hears someone shriek, laughter cutting through the air and he smiles. Beaches are so happy, so full of life. How can Harry be so grumpy about the beach? Sure, things haven’t always been great for Harry on the beach, but how can he sit there and look at the people around him and not feel free, elated? Draco sighs, playing with the sand, piling it up, swirling it around with one long finger.

“I hate the beach.” Harry’s grumble cuts through his contentedness and he tries not to scowl. No point in have two scowling people. He huffs a little, reaching up with one hand to rub at Harry’s thick thigh.

“Hmm… you may have said once or twice,” he mumbles, not really sure he’s said anything. He could definitely fall asleep here. Maybe if there weren’t so many Muggles around he’d cast a gentle protection charm over his skin and let himself sleep.

“Dobby died on a beach.” Harry’s voice is so small it jolts Draco from his sleepy haze. He sits up and look where Harry is sat, curled into himself, his knees against his chest and his forehead resting on them. He looks so young, so small. Draco shuffles closer to him, wrapping an arm around Harry’s shoulders. Heat flows into his skin and he tightens his arm. 

“I know,” he whispers, leaning his chin on Harry’s shoulder. They sit for a moment, listening to the sea, washing across the sand, the people playing in the waves, birds cawing as they fly. It’s strange to think that they’re here, sitting on a Muggle beach, wrapped in each other. They spent so much of their life arguing, pitted against each other by circumstance and bad decisions and ignorant, abhorrent beliefs that Draco will be forever thankful for being rid of. Educated against. He could never have thought he’d be so lucky as to be forgiven, accepted, loved by someone like Harry. Someone so good. He presses a soft kiss to his boyfriends shoulder, trying to tell Harry that he’s there.

“I hate the beach…” Harry mutters, lifting his head and looking at Draco with dark, sullen eyes. Draco nods, leaning his forehead against Harry’s, their breath mingling together. He leans forward a fraction, letting Harry come to him and their lips brush lightly. He pulls away, running his hands through that ridiculous, raven hair. He needs to make this better. He needs to give Harry something better than the memory of Dobby dying.

“How about we make some new memories?” he says, his heart clenching.

“Like what?” Harry eyed him suspiciously and Draco grinned. Harry was so cute when he looked suspicious. 

“Like… if you can catch me I’ll do the washing for a month, by hand, the Muggle way.” He wiggles his eyebrows, feeling for any movement of his boyfriend, anything to tell him that Harry is ok. It takes a moment, but Harry’s shoulder’s finally slump, his eyes sharpening and his face relaxing. He looks younger and Draco feels his chest tighten and his cock harden.

“Ok…” Harry’s lips twitch at the corner.

“Great!” Draco shouts, jumping up and running into the sand dunes, his long legs making it easy to nip between the tuffs of grass, the sand hot and the dried grass prickly on his feet. His heart is racing as he hears Harry grunt. Glancing back he sees Harry sprint towards him, powerful thighs propelling him forwards. Adrenaline pumps though him, making his head light and his fingers tingle and he can’t help the smile that stretches across his face, the embarrassingly high-pitched squeal that comes from his lips.

He darts over the dunes, running along tracks that exist for reasons that Draco can’t even imagine. Magic maybe. Sliding, he ducks down behind a large tuft of grass. There’s no one around, the sound of people so distant he has to strain to hear it. They could be completely alone. He is completely alone. He pants, catching the breath he didn’t know he didn’t have, and gives himself a minute to calm.

And then Harry jumps on him, spinning him around and pinning him to the ground, his strong Auror arms keeping him in place. Harry’s lips are on his before he can say anything, before he can really think. Their tongues twine and Draco can taste heat and salt and sun on Harry. The kiss deepens, their hands running over each other’s bared chests. Draco doesn’t breathe, doesn’t need to. All he needs is Harry, kissing him like he can’t do anything else.

Harry’s lips leave his and he whines, missing the searing heat against his lips. His cock hardens as Harry’s lips move over his skin, sucking on his neck, tongue laving at his nipples. Draco’s chest expands and his stomach twists. He needs Harry, wants him. He’s shaking with it. Harry’s fingers move to the waistband of his swimshorts and the idea hits him. Hooking his leg over Harry’s he rolls them, ending up hovering above his wonderful, annoyingly grumpy boyfriend.

He starts to kiss, him, his jaw peppered with stubble, his chest lightly scattered with hair, his nipples dark and perfectly round, his hip bone, jutting out under beautiful, sculpted abs. How did he get so lucky? How does he get to have this? He tugs at Harry’s shorts, freeing his erection. He looks at it for a moment, slightly shorter than his, but thicker. It’s a milky brown, the head almost purple as it strains, so hard Draco can almost see the pulse in it. His own cock twitches at the thought of what he’s about to do. Leaning forward, he opens his mouth to take Harry, when a soft hand stops him.

“But, you never do this…” Harry’s eyes are wide, full of wonder and Draco smiles at him.

“New memories, remember?” And with that he sinks down on Harry’s cock, feeling the glorious weight on his tongue, the silky smooth skin, the thick vein on the underside. He sucks hard, running his hand over Harry’s balls, rolling them around just as he knows Harry likes it. He presses his tongue to Harry’s slit, tasting the tang of pre-come, moaning, his hips rutting into the sand. Harry writhes above him, one hand laced in Draco’s hair and Draco looks up at him through his eyelashes. He looks gorgeous, his head tilted back, his mouth hanging open and his chest heaving.

Draco takes him down until he feels Harry’s cock nudge the back of his throat, then hollows out his cheek and sucks. Harry cries out, his grip tightening on Draco’s hair, his hips jutting forward. Draco lets his mouth go lax, spit running down the sides of Harry’s cock as he starts to fuck into Draco’s mouth with abandon. Draco can hear nothing, feel nothing except the exquisite pang of lust that runs through him every time Harry pumps into his mouth. Fuck, he needs to do this more.

It seems like too long, and not long enough when Harry’s balls begin to tighten, and Draco knows he’s going to come. He shoves one hand down his shorts and takes his cock, pumping it with his fist and he sucks hard, bringing Harry closer to the edge.

“Fuck… Draco…” Harry shouts and Draco presses down further, the coarse black hairs at the base of Harry’s cock tickling his nose. He swirls his tongue around, letting a moan slip from the back of his throat and Harry is coming, thick and hot down Draco’s throat, Draco’s name on his lips. Draco swallows every bit, sucking Harry through his orgasm, the bitter tang pushing him over the edge so he spills in his shorts like a teenager, white heat flooding through him.

They lie together, panting, Draco’s head rested on Harry’s thighs as Harry’s cock softens. Maybe they could stay here forever. Maybe they should just move here. After a while Draco slides up the dune and flops down next to the love of his life. He looks over at the other man, a lazy grin on his face and Harry looks back, his face relaxed and his eyes calm.

“I love you, Harry Potter,” he mutters, sinking into sleep.

“I love you too, Draco Malfoy,” Harry mumbles back, “and I might even like the beach.” Draco drifts to sleep, the chuckle still on his lips.


End file.
